


The Gentleman Prefers Redheads

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A winning bid has been made for his innocence and Ron has no option but to give it up for the gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gentleman Prefers Redheads

**Warnings (if any):** Dub-con, age disparity, first-time, language.  
 **Spoilers (if any):** Read at your own risk! Spoiler for end of fic, have struck through to make it easier to ignore if desired!  ~~Hinted incestuous relationship comprised of emotional attachment but with more to follow.~~  
 **Summary:** A winning bid has been made for his innocence and Ron has no option but to give it up for the gold.  
  
  
"Do I have to do this?"  
  
  
Ron swallowed on a throat dryer than it had ever been before. His heart was hammering and he was hot all over. Despite that, every few minutes or so a shudder was rolling through his body and his fingers had a nervous shake to them. He buried them in his pockets to hide it.  
  
  
"You do."  
  
  
There was a quiet, grave understanding in his brother's tone. Charlie looked at him with intense concern. One of his knees was jerking as he stood, arms folded over his chest, leaning against the worktop in the empty Weasley kitchen.  
  
  
"We've all had to do it. Every single magical adult in the country. Unless..."  
  
  
"Unless they had the fucking sense to have shag and brag about before they hit seventeen," Ron muttered bitterly.  
  
  
Lavender had been going there, he'd been sure of it. Only his sense of decency had stopped him – decency, and the desire for someone else to be the first.  
  
  
Now it didn't matter about firsts, or who he wanted. His virginity had been sold to the highest bidder and he had no idea who had bought it, their sex, age, inclination – anything. He knew absolutely nothing.  
  
  
"Just..." Charlie made a face and looked down at his feet. "Think of the money."  
  
  
"It's..." Ron failed to find an adequate word.  
  
  
"Archaic. Disgusting. Intimidating. Rape and prostitution in all but name." Charlie ruefully shook his head. "If I could spare you this, I would. But... I've done this before. The broom on which my virginity once flew is now being used to sweep out the chickens."  
  
  
Ron tried to laugh but it died on his tongue. He was too nervous for mirth.  
  
  
 _Scared._ His mind berated him. Ron was terrified, but he didn't want to admit it.  
  
  
Charlie clapped a hand on his shoulder and gently shook it. "Soon, it'll all be over. And then you can forget it and move on."  
  
  
Ron nodded but offered nothing else. Charlie was trying hard to bolster him, but he saw what his brother really thought in the eyes which always gave him away. He fingered his wand in his sleeve and checked the hotel address was still in the pocket of his jeans. New jeans. He'd been bought new clothes for the occasion, though Charlie hadn't said as much when they'd gone shopping for them. Ron knew, however, that it was good practice to be as well dressed as possible for the winning bidder. He supposed he looked okay; dark jeans which clung to his hips and legs, a deep maroon shirt which fitted his form a little too closely and well-made boots. He'd had a thorough wash, instructed by the confirmation letter of the bid. _'Must be impeccably groomed.'_ Ron didn't think he'd ever been 'impeccably' anything in his short life, and he was sure he would fall short of expectations.  
  
  
The thought of being a disappointment, despite how much he hated what was about to happen, made him feel sick. The money had been paid and would be released on the completion of their night together. He knew that his parents had no money. Perhaps the pittance he'd earned them would help.  
  
  
"You'd best be off." Charlie strode to the door and yanked it open. Cool spring air met them. It hadn't long stopped raining.  
  
  
All the absences of his pureblood friends, at random points since September, had suddenly made sense when the procedure had been explained to him. Those of Muggle parentage had no idea and Ron certainly wouldn't be rushing to explain to them at any point in the near future. And Harry... well. Harry was special, and his parents were dead. Nobody was whoring Harry out – for the first time in his life, Ron felt jealous that Harry was an orphan. He had been jealous of Harry about many things, but never about the fact that his parents were dead.  
  
  
It made him shudder with disgust again.  
  
  
"Make sure you're not late," Charlie fussed, reaching out to straighten his collar beneath the hand-me-down leather jacket which had once been Bill's. "And just... be polite. For Godric's sake don't be gobby and bite off more than you can chew."  
  
  
"They can't hurt me though," Ron said, hearing the panic in his voice. "You said they can't hurt me."  
  
  
"They can't hurt you," Charlie agreed. "But there are loads of ways to hurt someone, Ron, and the problem here is that you don't know what will. So just... don't provoke whoever it is. Go along with it. It'll be over soon."  
  
  
They looked at one another, sapphire blue into amber brown, and then Charlie grabbed him in the type of bone-crushing hug he was known for.  
  
  
"You can do this," Charlie whispered into his ear. "I'll see you soon."  
  
  
  
Ron lingered too long before he pulled away and headed out into the March night to touch the Portkey just beyond the boundary.  
  


* * *

  
  
The hotel was fancy. Fancier than anywhere Ron had ever been in his life. The carpet was bouncy beneath his boots and the wallpaper was lavish. He was still impossibly hot and he could feel his shirt sticking to the small of his back. The witch at reception had handed over the room key and advised him that it was on the fourth floor, with a wonderful view over the city. She'd given him an encouraging, knowing smile which made Ron want to vomit. Everyone knew. Everyone was content to let the system continue, though surely they must have hated it themselves when it had been their turn.  
  
  
The room numbers increased as he walked along with his pulse. He felt faint to match the heat burning through his skin. He felt he now understood how and why people chose to rely on alcohol to get through life.  
  
  
He stopped in front of number 456 and held his breath. As soon as he put the key in the lock, he would be at the mercy of a complete stranger. With a shaking hand he managed to fit it to the small hole but his courage failed him when it came to turning it.  
  
  
 _How does anybody manage to go through with it without passing out?_  
  
  
His fingers turned the key without instruction in the end. Perhaps they were willing to do the hard parts for him. He hoped they'd keep up their enthusiasm throughout the night. The door swung open to an exquisite suite, laid throughout with plush carpets and elegant furniture. He saw a table laden with sparkling glass decanters and something soared within him.  
  
  
He was of age. At least this night, of all nights, there would be alcohol that he could drink.  
  
  
Ron quietly shut the door behind him and set the key on the small table beside it. He looked around for another occupant but found none. Slipping out of his jacket, he hung it on a waiting stand. On it already was a dark jacket. Unable to help himself, Ron leant into it, inhaling from the fabric.  
  
  
It smelt of a man.  
  
  
"Fuck." He muttered the word, taking comfort in the way it rolled over his tongue. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."  
  
  
Of course, there were no guarantees that he would receive a bidder who was of the opposite sex. There were no rules that said his preference had to be acknowledged at all. Eager to try and forget reality, Ron headed for the huge windows which did indeed have a beautiful view over London town. The lights sparkled and Ron tried to focus on them, tried to pick out landmarks that he recognised.  
  
  
A small cough came from behind him and he froze. Involuntarily his eyelids closed and his breath halted in his chest.  
  
  
"Would you like a drink?"  
  
  
Familiarity caused Ron's face to burn. He knew that voice. He knew who he would see when he opened his eyes and turned around. "Snape." He remained facing the window.  
  
  
"Weasley." Ron heard the clink of glass on glass as a stopper was removed from one of the decanters. "Firewhisky?"  
  
  
Fighting intense nausea, Ron managed to grind out his assent before slowly turning on the spot.  
  
  
Snape looked different standing amidst the luxury of the room. Ron noticed some immediate changes – clean hair, no billowing robes. On the contrary, he looked mostly inoffensive as he stood there, pouring them both drinks. The measures looked obscenely large.  
  
  
Ron wasn't going to complain. He felt that the night would probably be improved by being shit-faced.  
  
  
Snape held out the drink, leaving Ron no choice but to leave the safety of the window to collect it. The tumbler was cool to his hot hand and he nursed it, looking down into the amber liquid. Snape moved to stand beside him and Ron fought the urge to step away. When thin, potion-stained fingers came up to try and brush his hair away from his brow, he turned his head.  
  
  
There was a deep sigh from next to him and Ron heard the clink of ice as Snape sipped his drink.  
  
  
"'M-sorry," he mumbled, and took a large gulp of Firewhisky for himself. It burned all the way down his throat and he blinked at the moisture which sprung up in his eyes.  
  
  
"Don't be." Snape's voice was soft, so very different from the barking, snide man who had taught him for six years. "I appreciate that this is... difficult."  
  
  
Ron said nothing but sipped his drink again and again until the glass was empty. Snape took it from his fingers and refilled both drinks without a word. Ron shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot and took the glass back when it was offered.  
  
  
It was halfway through that drink when he felt able to relax his shoulders and properly breathe again. Snape stood silently beside him, matching his drinking pace. Perhaps, Ron thought, they'd both be too drunk to really do anything much.  
  
  
"And so, to business..." Snape said softly, dashing all Ron's weak hopes.  
  
  
"Why did you bid for me?" he muttered, unable to stop himself from asking. "You hate me."  
  
  
"Do I?" Snape asked, slightly tilting his head to one side with the question. "What an odd assumption to make of a man who has paid a fortune for you."  
  
  
"It's not." Ron looked at him properly for the first time. "You spend all your time making our lives hell. Why the fuck would you pay to be the first man to fuck me?"  
  
  
He rather spat the last sentence and looked away, feeling ashamed of himself. Nerves had already made him speak out of turn. Merlin only knew what else he'd say before the night was out.  
  
  
Slowly, Snape's response sank in as he stared at the sofa.  
  
  
"You paid a fortune for me?" He asked. "I'm not worth it."  
  
  
"I will be the judge of that, and at any rate, it's too late, I can't get my money back..."  
  
  
"But why?" Ron pressed. Suddenly, he was desperate to know why the wizard who taught him, who had only ever chastised him and made him feel thicker than two short planks, had bothered to pay money to fuck him before any other person in the world. "Why?"  
  
  
"Why would I want you?" Snape set the glass down and met his eye. "Because. I'm not obliged to answer anything further. Do not ask me again."  
  
  
There was a steely note to his tone which was humbling. Ron looked down at his feet.  
  
  
"Now. Am I correct in assuming that you are not inclined to relations with men?"  
  
  
"I..." Ron faltered. "I don't really know."  
  
  
"Have you ever thought about another man touching you?" Snape asked, stepping closer to Ron. "Or thought about touching one yourself?"  
  
  
Ron felt his cheeks flood with colour. He was a teenager. He assumed that it was normal to have thought about touching any human with a pulse at some point or other in the dead of night or within a horny, unmonitored and totally private mind.  
  
  
"Well, that makes things easier." Snape reached forward and touched his hair. "As does the fact that you look... as you look." Dark eyes looked him up and down. Ron blushed again. "Don't be embarrassed. Don't be afraid. You look at me as though I am here to break you."  
  
  
"Well... you are, sort of."  
  
  
"I dread to think what tales of virginity-taking you've heard, but I was hoping to attain something far more pleasurable, for us both."  
  
  
Ron swallowed as cool fingers traced over his cheekbone. One touched to his lower lip and lingered there.  
  
  
“This will be simple and uncomplicated,” Snape instructed him. “I have paid for something and I intend to be in receipt of it. You. I will have you.”  
  
  
Shivering, Ron said nothing, his arm having dropped and his fingers barely clinging onto his glass. Snape put his free hand to his hip and pulled him forward, so that there was no personal space between them. He couldn't help the little gasp which escaped his lips as Snape inhaled the scent of his hair and pressed his face into it.  
  
  
Limp like a ragdoll, Ron stood there, completely at the older wizard's mercy. He realised too late that he was shaking, and it was noticed.  
  
  
“Stop.” Both hands came to rest on his shoulders and gripped them. “Stop this. There is no need to be afraid. You will not find me unkind, Ron.”  
  
  
Ron found it impossible to calm his pulse or stop the trembling. He stood there, his face burning with shame, waiting for the man to become angry and betray his promises.  
  
  
All Snape did, however, was sigh and step back. He took Ron's glass from him and put it next to his own. Then he took one of Ron's hands and pulled him towards the sofa. Ron sat down when his arm was tugged and let the soft cushions envelope him. He did and said nothing when Snape's arm curled about his waist and pulled him close. Again, the man nosed into his hair and inhaled. Unable to help himself, he looked at Snape inquisitively.  
  
  
“I have always loved red hair.” Snape looked down at the space between them. “And... I confess, it had a lot to do with my bid. Without wanting to sound perverted, I have watched you grow into yourself, into this hair, and am attracted to the man you have become. And this opportunity, well... it was not one I could allow myself to pass. And, say I had... who might have bid for you? What sort of hell might you be in at the moment had I not?”  
  
  
Ron thought about that for a moment, and a question loomed out at him. “What happens if you're put for auction... and nobody bids?”  
  
  
“Ah. I am not the man to answer that and, believe me, I don't think you want to distress yourself with the knowledge.”  
  
  
“I do,” Ron assured him. “I want to have something to justify this with in my head.”  
  
  
“My desire is not justification enough for you?”  
  
  
“Not you specifically, this whole stupid idea. I need to know that I'm better off this way. I'm sorry. It's not you... it would have been anybody.”  
  
  
“I highly doubt you'd be complaining if, perhaps, your highest bidder had been Madame Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks.”  
  
  
Ron gave himself away with another blush. Snape laughed and it sounded so odd to Ron, so very human.  
  
  
“Those who are auctioned and are not bid for... enter a pool for selection which the, uh, more salubrious, poorer section of our society are able to bid for.”  
  
  
“Shit,” Ron muttered, thinking of the scum which lurked down Knockturn Alley and the furthered warren of dark, dank lanes which branched from it.  
  
  
“Indeed. And I imagine, being Potter's best friend, that there would have been a great deal of interest in you had you ended up in that pool.”  
  
  
Ron gave a meek nod. It was the truth.  
  
  
“And... it is an unpleasant way to be inducted into the realms of physical pleasure.”  
  
  
“How would you know?” Ron asked hotly, before he remembered he was meant to be on his best behaviour.  
  
  
Snape stayed quiet a little too long. He looked away and said nothing.  
  
  
“Oh.” Ron breathed the word and wished he'd not asked. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't've asked.”  
  
  
“No, perhaps not.”  
  
  
Snape looked back at him when he had regained his composure.  
  
  
“So, you are lucky.”  
  
  
“S'pose,” Ron agreed. He leant back properly into the sofa.  
  
  
Snape summoned his drink and caught it deftly in one hand. He rested it on his thigh and dipped one finger into the liquid. Ron remained still as that finger then came up and traced his lips, spreading the alcohol around his mouth with tantalising slowness. Snape's fingers gently nudged his chin until they were facing one another, and then, without further fuss or hesitation, he kissed him.  
  
  
Ron's protest died in his throat as strong fingers cupped the base of his skull and held him in place. Snape's other hand skirted down his chest and belly before settling over his crotch. The heel of his hand pressed down and rocked back and forth.  
  
  
Ron let it happen. He was too scared for his body to react positively. He remained limp but completely yielding; he had never felt so strange.  
  
  
Suddenly, everything seem to bear down on him – the absurdity of the fact he was kissing his most-hated Professor, that fact that Snape was being so tender, the fact that later on that night, he would be taken and had and bundled back out of the door and sworn to secrecy. Blood pounded in his ears and his skin crept. He felt his palms make contact with Snape's shoulders and then he was pushing him away, jumping to his feet and hurrying as far away as he could get. He buried his face in his hands and fought back what was half anguished sob, half angry shout. He curled his fingers into his hair and pulled, so that the pain was harsh and gave him something else to think about. Snape was silent behind him.  
  
  
He tried to calm his breathing as he stood, sweating hard, looking out over the London skyline. The chaos of flickering lights made him dizzy. He blinked over and over, knowing that he needed to pull himself together. One way or another he was going to have to go through with it, and he could do it like a man or he could break down and make an idiot out of himself.  
  
  
 _He already thinks you're an idiot._  
  
  
Ron turned and looked at Snape, who remained on the sofa, his face wearing an odd expression Ron had never seen on him before.  
  
  
 _Pity. He pities you._  
  
  
The mood he was in, Ron was surprised that the knowledge didn't infuriate him. Instead, it helped. Snape pitied him. He knew the situation was unwanted. And yet he wasn't throwing his weight around, sulking because Ron wasn't falling over himself to get into bed with him.  
  
  
Exhaling, Ron stepped off the raised platform by the window and headed for the small table with the crystal decanters. He worked the stopper free and tipped his head back.  
  
  
He glugged until the skin of his throat was screaming for mercy. He didn't look at how much he'd drunk when he slammed the decanter down and wiped his mouth. He rounded the sofa and extended his hand to Snape, his professor, his winning bid. This man had paid money to have and Ron would give.  
  


 

***

  
  
Nestled in surprisingly strong, wiry arms, Ron drifted in an alcohol-fuelled haze, getting used to the soreness in his backside and the sensation of come on the back of his thighs. If he wasn't drunk, he thought, that might have made him vomit.  
  
  
But drunk he was, and that was fine by him. Even if he was monumentally sick later, it didn't matter. He'd done it and by all accounts Snape seemed to have been pleased with what had happened.  
  
  
Ron had surprised himself. As Snape had prepared him, reaching into him with impossibly long fingers, there had been flickers and curls of pleasure. Snape had played on that, repeating the motions which dragged mewls from his mouth until Ron was panting and teetering on the edge. Then Snape had grown impatient and entered him – slowly, cautiously, but still undoubtedly painfully, and Ron had lost his erection and his gumption in one fell swoop. He was sure he would be ashamed of the way his body had trembled and the way he had hissed and gasped at the pain. The way his eyes had brimmed with tears. In the morning, surely, he would be full of regret.  
  
  
Snape had not been rough with him, but he was eager, hard and well-endowed, and Ron a virgin. It would never have been beautiful, that first time, when he was so dizzy with the drink and nerves and outright fear.  
  
  
But he imagined it _could_ be beautiful, between two loving men who wanted nothing more than to pleasure each other. He could see how, from those short moments of bliss, he would want to explore anal play in the future.  
  
  
A light kiss to his cheek dragged him from his thoughts. He took a deep breath and shifted slightly so that he could look back at Snape.  
  
  
“Are you...?” Snape trailed off, looking at him with concerned eyes and wearing a penitent expression. He dropped his chin and pressed his lips to Ron's shoulder. “Do you need healing?” he murmured.  
  
  
“I don't think so.” Ron had no idea. His arsehole was throbbing. Perhaps there was blood amongst the semen. He was too shattered to find out. “I'm okay.”  
  
  
“You're slurring.” Snape shot him a rueful smile and tightened his grip around Ron's torso.  
  
  
Both of them were completely naked. Ron didn't remember Snape losing his clothes, but he did remember being surprised that whilst thin, Snape had muscle to him in his upper arms and thighs. His stomach was flat. His pubic hair was as black as the hair on his head but stood out more starkly against his pallid skin. Again, Ron wondered if perhaps their circumstances were different, if he weren't there by force and tradition, whether he might find Snape attractive.  
  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Snape traced his fingertips up one of Ron's arms. “It's too late to be pondering something so intently.”  
  
  
Ron smiled and shook his head. The alcohol gave him the courage to be coy. He said nothing.  
  
  
Snape watched him avidly until he accepted that there would be no response and he would not see into Ron's mind. On giving up, he turned slightly and looked at the ceiling.  
  
  
“Snape?”  
  
  
“Oh, for god's sake.” The man snorted in derision. “Call me Severus. After what has just happened, for this night alone, you should call me by my given name, not a surname you can barely say without contempt.”  
  
  
Ron turned onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “All right then... Severus...”  
  
  
“Yes?”  
  
  
The dark head turned and darker eyes hungrily looked at him.  
  
  
“Why did you bid for me?” Ron knew he might be pushing it, but he was desperate to know.  
  
  
“I told you, I like red hair.” Severus looked uncomfortable and turned his face away.  
  
  
Bolstered by booze and the sheer delirium of the situation, Ron reached over and turned Severus' face back towards him. He kissed him, clumsily but gently, leaving his hand cupping the older wizard's cheek. He frowned when Severus pulled away from him.  
  
  
“Stop it. You've done what was required of you. There is no need for further intimacy.”  
  
  
Feeling stung, Ron looked at him with wide eyes. Severus rolled and made to get up, but Ron, once again pushed by his inebriation, reached out and grabbed him around the torso, holding him to the bed. Somehow he ended up on his knees with his chin on a shoulder. The room swum.  
  
  
“Ron.” Long fingered hands came up to pry at his arms. “Stop.”  
  
  
“Why?” he asked, not hearing how loud and brash his question was.  
  
  
“Because you are drunk.”  
  
  
“So?”  
  
  
There was a loud sigh and Severus turned to look at him. Ron landed on his bottom which gave a particularly painful throb. He must have winced.  
  
  
“Quite,” Severus said, raising his eyebrows. “You are drunk, you feel the pain already. And in the morning, when the fog has cleared and you have your head in a toilet bowl, you will regret everything that has gone on – everything that you had to do and everything you thought you wanted to do, carried away on the Firewhiskey. Save yourself the heartache.” A sardonic roll of dark eyes accompanied the last part of Severus' lecture.  
  
  
Ron swallowed. Something in his chest ached where the words had landed. Snape wanted him no longer, it seemed. His virginity was all that had mattered and he had given it.  
  
  
 _Idiot. Of course he doesn't want anything else. It's all he paid for._  
  
  
The realisation slapped him around the face and made the room spin more. He jerked when a cool hand stroked through his hair.  
  
  
“You should go home,” Severus advised. His face had completely changed again. Now he looked remorseful and, if Ron was interpreting correctly, sorrowful. “There's nothing left to do here.”  
  
  
Ron fought to get his tongue in gear. “We shouldn't waste the room.”  
  
  
“The room doesn't matter.”  
  
  
“Oh.”  
  
  
Still, Severus lingered, looking down at him on the bed. Ron looked back, unable to think of anything to say. He felt an idiot sitting there, speechless, drunk and completely naked.  
  
  
“Don't go,” he whispered finally. “It'll be so much worse if you go. Please.”  
  
  
He blinked, not knowing that he was batting his eyelashes. He held out his hand again, hoping to tempt his Professor back into bed. He didn't want more sex, his body ached too much already – but he wanted someone to lie with. To not be alone. If he went home, he would shower and go to bed. Alone. Ron didn't think he could bear solitude after everything.  
  
  
“Please.”  
  
  
As the thin body wrapped around him once more, Ron let out a tiny breath and closed his eyes with relief.  
  


* * *

  
  
Feeling rougher than the proverbial, Ron stumbled around the kitchen. The Burrow above him was completely silent and light was only just starting to brighten the sky. Snape had woken him at four. They'd readied themselves hurriedly, Ron fighting fingers which seemed unable to do his bidding. Snape had dressed him in the end and accompanied him down to street level, where they stood in the cold London air and shared an awkward goodbye.  
  
  
It was not lost on Ron that the next time that they would see one another, he would be in uniform and Snape behind a desk. He was forbidden from ever revealing who had bid for him. Snape was forbidden from admitting whose virginity he had taken. A complete secret between the two of them, shared apparently all because the gentleman preferred a redhead.  
  
  
Ron found what he was looking for with shaking fingers – a glass and the head of the tap. He let the water run before catching it and gulping it down. His throat was burning. He'd overdone it completely with the Firewhiskey. Everything hurt.  
  
  
  
A noise from behind him made him jump and drop the glass in the sink with an almighty clatter.  
  
  
“You're home.” Charlie stepped into the kitchen and looked at him pensively.  
  
  
Ron nodded and collapsed against the work top, sliding so that he was sitting on the flagstones with his knees up in front of him. He tipped his face into his hands. Charlie sat down next to him, patiently waiting.  
  
  
Ron said nothing. There was nothing to say. A part of him, it seemed, was left behind in that hotel room, trapped in an experience he would never have again but has never wanted in the first place.  
  
  
“Let's get you showered and into bed,” Charlie said decisively.  
  
  
Ron went along with it, eager not to think, or feel, or at all recognise the gravity of what he'd just been through.  
  
  
As Charlie took his hand and led him up through the creaky stairways of the Burrow, Ron allowed numbness to creep through his brain. It took over his body as they went into the bathroom and the door was locked. Charlie helped him out of his clothes with gentle, quick hands. The shower gurgled into life, slow and cold so early in the morning. Charlie helped him to climb into the bath with his rough, large hands and pulled the curtain round. Ron saw no point in that. His dignity seemed rather a foolish thing to strive for at that point. But he left it in place and stood under the stream of water as it continued to heat. He leant against the wall and closed his eyes.  
  
  
His head was full and empty all at once. As he stood there under the pounding water, he swallowed. It was done. And that meant–  
  
  
The curtain was torn back and Ron met Charlie's eyes through the rising steam. They were full of sadness and empathy–and something else which Ron had never really had the chance to see there before. Lust.  
  
  
“I would have bid for you,” Charlie whispered, pulling one of Ron's hands towards him and dusting his lips over the knuckles. “But that's the one fucking thing they don't allow. Be raped by a total stranger? Fine. God forbid anyone should want to fuck their family.”  
  
  
“Even you know that's fucked up,” Ron mumbled.  
  
  
“More fucked up than waiting to be with you so that you could go through this whole charade and not have to tell the Ministry you fucked your brother?!”  
  
  
Ron was too tired to concede Charlie had a point.  
  
  
“C'mon.” Charlie handed him something which Ron promptly lathered all over his body, not caring whether it was shower gel or shampoo.  
  
  
He rinsed himself with his hands propped on the wall.  
  
  
“Do you need me to check–?” Charlie had the good grace to blush whilst indicating Ron's backside.  
  
  
“No. He did that.”  
  
  
“He?”  
  
  
Ron felt a swooping sensation in his belly as he saw something else flare to life in his brother's eyes: jealousy.  
  
  
He nodded and turned off the shower. He stepped out of the bath and dragged a towel from the rail. Out of habit, he shook it over the bath to dislodge any eight-legged monsters which might have crept in. Charlie took it from him and threw it around Ron's shoulders, pulling it tightly closed over his chest and at the same time pulling Ron close.  
  
  
Ron held his breath. Everything had changed.  
  


 

**_-fin-_ **


End file.
